


they can have their diamonds and we'll have our pearls

by el_em_en_oh_pee



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Coming Out, Cunnilingus, Exhibitionism, F/F, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Oral Sex, Scissoring, Sex Tape, Talk Shows, Will Schuester being a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el_em_en_oh_pee/pseuds/el_em_en_oh_pee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a fill for <a href="http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/22507.html?thread=25184747#t25184747">this prompt</a> at the Glee Kink Meme. Santana is a famous singer linked with a new guy every week. Brittany is her backup dancer. They're always together, but no one thinks anything of it... until Santana's phone is stolen and photos of the two of them, quickly followed by a sex tape, are leaked onto the internet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	they can have their diamonds and we'll have our pearls

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [wanderinghope](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderinghope) for the title help~

  
"So who's your boyfriend this week?" Brittany asks, nonchalantly. She's sitting, mostly naked, on the couch in Santana's hotel suite, hunched over her knee and painting her toenails a bright turquoise, a bottle of yellow waiting next to her for polka-dotting purposes.

Santana loves it so much when Britt's nails match her panties.

"Uh," she says. "I think his name is Sam. Quinn –" one of Santana's friends from before she became the musical phenomenon she is today "- recommended him to me."

"Do you think they ever get sad when you dump them really fast?" Brittany asks, looking a little sad. If it were anyone else asking, Santana would be convinced that they were actually just implying that they were sad about the secrecy, but, well. Brittany is guileless. Santana's probably just projecting her own feelings of guilt onto what Britt just said.

"I'm pretty sure they expect it," she says, stiffly, and then: "How much longer are your nails going to take? I wants to get my cuddle on."

Brittany looks up at her and grins. "Great art takes time, sweetie. Why don't you run through that choreography that's been tripping you up while I finish?"

Santana rolls her eyes at Brittany, and sticks out her tongue for good measure, but she gets up off the bed, walks over to kiss her girlfriend, and then starts stretching in preparation of attempting the complicated turn she's doing for her newest song. 

By the time she's running through it for the third time, Brittany's finished her nails and is wiggling her toes around to dry. She's watching Santana avidly now. "Try turning your toes out when you put your foot down," she suggests. "You won't lose your balance as easily then. Probably."

Santana does it once, to moderate success, then throws herself down on the couch next to Britt. "I'd rather dance with you," she says, frankly, picking up one of Brittany's feet to examine the polish job. "This is really cute."

"I know," Brittany says, flexing her toes so that the polish catches the light. "If I weren't your favorite backup dancer slash secret girlfriend I'd totally be your makeup person."

"As long as you were still in my life," Santana says. She doesn't even feel lame about the really sappy shit she says to Brittany anymore. Sometimes she wonders how awful it would be if she just came out and told the world that she already found the love of her life _years_ ago, an awesome sexy hot girl who just so happens to be _rabidly flexible_. But Schuester, her main publicist, keeps insisting that coming out will fucking wreck her demographic, and his work accounts for probably 33% of why she's so famous. Sure, she's talented, but saying and doing the right thing is important, too.

Santana's pointed out that being true to herself is also important, but no dice.

When Brittany kisses her, it's like coming home.

+++

Santana has been back from her (awful) date with Sam (he's actually awesome, in a dorky sort of way, but... he has a dick and that's just gross, and he doesn't realize exactly how far this _isn't_ going, which is always awkward) for about fifteen minutes when she realizes she doesn't have her phone.

"Babe, have you seen my cell?" she asks Brittany, who is bent over, rummaging through the hotel room's minibar for those expensive half-bottles of cheap wine that she loves.

"No, not since you left," Brittany calls back, and Santana allows herself half a minute to admire Brittany's _fine_ ass.

"'kay," Santana says, trying not to worry about it. Just to be on the safe side, she uses the room phone to call the restaurant she and Sam had been at. They haven't seen it.

"You'll probably find it when the alarm starts going off at like, seven tomorrow morning," Brittany points out, walking back over to the bed, laden with two tiny bottles of Bombay Sapphire for Santana and a chardonnay for herself.

"You're right," Santana says, taking a calming breath. "Okay. Yeah. You're right. It'll show up in the morning."

"Of course I am," Brittany says, kissing Santana on the nose and handing her the gin. "Come on, I want to get tipsy and fuck you for so long that you sleep on the entire bus ride to Chicago tomorrow."

Santana laughs, finally. She's like, the opposite of opposed to Brittany's suggestion, so she unscrews the top of one of the tiny bottles and downs it in a swallow, taking the other with her to the minibar so to find some kind of chaser.

+++

One hour and a shared bottle or two of champagne (because Santana's fucking loaded and she deserves to spoil herself), later, Santana is feeling wonderfully floaty. Kissing Brittany while champagne-drunk is so much better than the high sex she used to have with that Rachel chick from college, back before Santana dropped out to pursue a singing career. Brittany's lips are soft underneath her own, and Santana just _dies every time_ at the way that Brittany always rolls into Santana's hand as she strokes Britt's side, like the barest brush of Santana's fingertips is fucking electrifying.

It's kind of like the bubbles are popping all over inside Santana, too, as Brittany flips them over and brushes Santana's hair back and moves her hand down to push her short skirt up higher, but when Brittany crooks a finger under Santana's thong against her pussy, it's less like bubbles and more like firecrackers. And Santana knows from experience that this will only get better.

Brittany's moving her finger against Santana's clit now in sharp, sure circles, the kind that always turn Santana into a moaning puddle of arousal on the bed. Santana lets her legs fall open, then slips one up between Britt's legs, pushing up until she can feel the heat of Brittany through her panties, which still match Britt's nail polish except they're totally damper than her nails now.

Brittany gasps, moving her finger faster. When it slips through the slick folds of Santana's cunt, Santana bites her lips hard, staring up at Brittany, eyes wide open. "Babe," she whispers. "Britt-Britt. Please."

"I've got you, Santana," Brittany says, grinning and shifting against Santana's leg, the damp spot on her panties growing as she does so. She slips a finger into Santana deliberately, slowly, waiting till Santana's hips jerk against her hand before slipping another in another finger, thrusting gently until Santana moans, burrowing her face into Brittany's neck, biting at the thick muscle between Britt's neck and shoulder. It's Santana's signature tell that she wants more, and she manages a grin against Britt's skin when the other girl starts pushing harder and faster, adding another finger at Santana's second moan.

"Babe, I need-" Santana bites out, and Brittany nods, crooking her fingers so they hit against Santana's g-spot repeatedly.

"Come for me, sweetie," Brittany whispers. Her hips are moving regularly against Santana's leg now, and Santana wants to taste her _so badly_ , but she literally can't concentrate on anything but Britt's fingers moving – now slowly, now quickly, now twisting – inside of her.

"'Kay," she says, pushing her own hips down on Britt's hand, eyes falling shut as Brittany pinches one of Santana's nipples _hard_ with her free hand. Brittany twists her fingers, and Santana comes, hard.

When she comes down from her orgasm, Brittany is sitting back and touching herself, leisurely, but Santana isn't having any of _that_. "My turn," she says, knocking Britt's hand aside and settling down between her legs. She pushes her tongue against Britt's underwear, tasting Brittany through the cotton. "Mine," she whispers, licking over the underwear now, then pulling it aside so she can taste Britt properly. "All mine."

With that, she flicks her tongue against Britt's clit. Brittany doesn't like it as hard as Santana does, and she likes it quicker, and Santana quickly finds a rhythm that has Brittany groaning her name. When Britt is shuddering, her entire body tense with approaching climax, Santana licks her way lower, gently pushing her tongue into Brittany so she can get the rush of wet as Brittany comes.

They wake up to the phone – room phone, not Santana's missing cell phone – ringing. "Don't answer it, please," Santana moans at Brittany, and Britt just giggles.

"Yeah, okay, but we should probably start heading out, sweetie," she says. "We've overslept a little."

Santana squints at the clock. 7:23. That means her phone really is missing. "Fuck," she says, and reaches over to answer the still-ringing room phone. "Lopez."

It's Schuester. "We have to go," he says, tightly. "Don’t talk to any reporters."

"O…kay," Santana says, slowly, but before she can ask why, he hangs up. Well.

"Our stuff is all packed," Brittany says. "Except for that fancy underwear."

"Don't you fucking dare forget that underwear," Santana says, groaning as she rolls out of bed and starts hunting down a change of clothes.

When they finally get outside forty minutes later, there is a whole fucking _crew_ of paparazzi lying in wait. Plus some reporters. What the fuck?

Someone sticks a microphone in Santana's face. "Is it true that this woman is your lesbian lover?" she asks.

+++

Santana doesn't know what she'd do without Brittany, who just rolled her eyes at the woman, said, "No comment," and dragged Santana into the tour bus. She especially doesn't know what she'd do without Brittany once she got away from the media, because Schuester is waiting in the bus and he looks _livid_.

"What happened?" he demands, hands akimbo. His hair looks like he's raked his hands through it regularly all morning, which – well, it's definitely within the realm of possibility.

"What's going on?" Santana asks. She's pretty sure she knows, but she really, _really_ hopes she's wrong.

"There are pictures," Schuester says, flatly. "Of the two of you holding hands, hugging. There's one or two of a kiss. This is _horrible_ for your image; sales are going to go _way_ down."

"My phone," Santana says, glumly. "I lost it. On my date with _Sam_ , I might add; clearly seeing boys is hurting my reputation at this point.

Schuester just rolls his eyes. "I need to go fix this," he says, pointedly. "Try not to fuck things up even further."

"I could fire you," Santana threatens, not entirely seriously. He's quite good at what he does, outside of his insistence on perpetuating the myth of Santana's heterosexuality, and she's pretty sure that hiring anyone else with his level of experience would be more than she's willing to pay at this point in her potentially grossly shortened career.

Or maybe she's outgrowing him and doesn't want to admit it to herself, since he's been with her since the beginning.

Whatever.

His lips thin, and he turns and walks down the aisle of the bus, taking out his phone and hitting one of his speed-dials. Brittany pulls Santana onto a couch and sits down next to her, taking out her phone. "Want to check out the damage?"

"I guess," Santana says. She's not sure how she feels about all of this – everything is apparently out in the open, which is simultaneously kind of... freeing, yet terrifying. But it's so sudden that she's really mostly just confused.

Brittany just nods, her fingers flying over her phone's keypad, pulling up all the old gossip site standards: Perez, TMZ, ONTD, and so on. "The pictures aren't that bad," she says, after a moment. "Actually, they're some of my favorites. See?"

She holds up the phone, and yeah, most of them are fucking adorable. Still, though. "What are the comments like?" Santana asks, tentatively.

Britt scrolls through, pausing once she hits them. "Uh, most people seem to think it's a hoax," she says, after reading a bunch of them. "Something to raise publicity right before _Going Stere_ o drops." She scrolls further. "A bunch of people think it's totally cute." She looks up and winks at Santana. "I do too, for the record, but I think we're more totally hot than cute."

"Yeah," Santana says. Her mouth is dry. Would it actually be so bad if – if –

If people knew it was for real?

"Oh," Brittany says, sounding suddenly disappointed. "There are a few people – not many, but a few – that just keep going on about how you're a sinner destined for hell and stuff."

"Fuck," Santana says. She's not really sure whether it's more of a ' _fuck them_ ' or a ' _fuck my life_.'

Brittany looks nervous, but she puts her hand on Santana's knee. "If you want to stop..." She breaks off, and then, probably due to what is likely a completely _stricken_  expression on Santana's face, based on what Santana's feeling right now, then hurriedly adds, "I mean, just until this all blows over... I mean, we can do that."

Santana blinks. Blinks again. Her mouth works for a while, but she doesn't say anything until: "You aren't getting away from me _that_ easily," she says, and slide a hand around Brittany's neck, up along the base of her skull, tangling her fingers in Brittany's long hair. And then, even though Schuester is still totally in the bus and will probably have a conniption or ten over it, she pulls Brittany in closer and fits her mouth over hers and kisses her, soft and closemouthed at first, then slowly nudging Britt's lips open with her tongue until she is totally and completely pouring all of her love out at the other girl through the kiss.

When she finally pulls away, Brittany makes as if to move back in, but she slumps against the back of the couch instead. "Okay," she says, finally, grinning at Santana. "I believe you already. Just... hold off on those kisses'till we're alone, okay, because I really don't have _that_ much self-restraint and we all know you _definitely_ don't."

"Oh, fuck you," says Santana, but she's laughing as she hooks hers and Britt's pinkies together.

+++

At the Chicago show, after Santana's second encore, she decides that her 'fuck' earlier is totally more of a _fuck it_ than anything, so she picks up a hand-held microphone from just offstage and drags a chair, a prop from a song that's basically a shout-out to Jon Larson and the fact that she first fell in love with music when she spontaneously auditioned for Mimi Marquez in her community theater's production of RENT back in high school, to the center of the stage. "Whassup, Chicago," she shouts into the mic. "How would you like to hear me try something new that I've never done before?"

The cheers have it, and even though she _knows_ it will get her into monumental amounts of trouble, she starts belting out a song that's been on her iPod since Brittany joined her legion of backup dancers three years back. It's not traditionally a ballad, but she's singing it like one, and she's not above admitting that in the back of her mind, she's thinking _eat your heart out, Mercedes_ at her biggest rival on the charts these days.

Schuester is going to fucking _kill_ her, and it's really not that great because, well, arranging a song _while_ she sings it isn't Santana's strongest suit, but she just really loves Jill Sobule's "I Kissed A Girl."

If she had more time, she'd totally have worked out a mashup with Katy Perry's song, too, just to make it a little less serious and extend her life expectancy beyond the next time she sees Schuester, but whatever. Seriously, fuck it.

When she's done, the entire arena is silent for all of twenty seconds, and she wonders briefly how many people are already uploading their recordings to Tumblr, or tweeting about what she just sang and why she might have sung it, or Facebooking about how out there that song was, but then everyone is cheering, so she stands up, does a little bow, and shouts "Thank you, and goodnight," before dashing off the stage.

Schuester is waiting for her and he is _livid_. "You have an interview with _Parade_ in ten minutes," he says, after the longest disappointed look she's ever gotten from him, _ever_. "And Ellen wants to fit you in next week. Conan too."

Santana just shrugs at him, and his gaze darkens. "I don't care what you say to _Parade_ ," he tells her. "At this point, you've already fucked your reputation up. Just try to salvage it, okay?" He thrusts a phone at her and turns on his heel, stalking off to no doubt do more damage control.

+++

Santana answers the questions automatically. It's clear that Schuester has been pretty strict with what they're allowed to ask her. They do manage one question about the leaked pictures and the song of the evening, and Santana sighs, cursing herself inwardly, and takes the coward's route: "I just know that there are a lot of teens in my demographic who are scared to come out," she says. "I've gotten a lot of fan mail to that effect. So I thought I'd do some PR to show that being gay is totally okay, just so that they can get the message that they're supported by someone, no matter what. Unfortunately, someone got ahold of what I was working on before I could release it officially, so I just made the most of it!"

She really, really hates herself for that.

Brittany probably should hate her too, but she's being all fucking _understanding_ about this shit, all, "Santana, you're under a lot of pressure, you're not really doing anything I wouldn't do if I were in your place," which Santana is pretty sure is a bald-faced lie. But whatever. She needs cuddle time with her best girl, so she takes Brittany's hand and leads her back to the bunks in the bus and pulls Britt into hers, closing the curtains around them and daring anyone to interrupt them as she kisses Britt, slips her hand down Britt's sweats and strokes her until Brittany comes, shuddering, burying her face in Santana's pillow to muffle her moans.

Santana doesn't let Brittany get her off, though, because she's still feeling fucking guilty as hell for outright _lying_ about everything today more than ever before –lying by omission somehow felt less wrong – instead rolling over and drawing Britt's arm across her chest, pulling her close and pressing her back against Britt's entire front side.

Spooning is, frankly, not as good as sex most of the time, but it's what she needs right now.

+++

And everything blows over. People buy her explanation – she gets some more negative comments from her right-wing listeners (and maybe some from people who just like to hear their own voices), some votes of support, and a surprisingly large amount of radio silence. Well, there are the people who are calling her a corporate sell-out exploiting the experience of young LGBT individuals by sexualizing the experience with the pictures that were taken fighting with the people who are calling her a perfect straight ally, but those arguments don't ever have more than like, 10,000 notes on tumblr – most of which are just Likes – so she pretty much discounts those.

She gets a new phone and picks out a much better password, and Brittany starts going through her own history and sending Santana a couple of the pictures she's lost every day.

It's almost a week after the leak when Brittany comes across something while they're in another hotel room, this time in LA for her interview with Ellen the next day. She glances up at Santana, her expression a comical combination of arousal and horror.

"Babe, are you okay?" Santana asks. They're lying in bed, under the sheets with the blanket pushed off to the side, Santana's strap-on on the nightstand waiting to be cleaned off.

"Yeah," Brittany says, blinking and shaking her head a bit. "I just came across that, um, video of ours. Did you have it on your phone?"

"I don't remember," Santana says, biting her lip. "Surely it'd be out by now, though, right?"

"Probably," Britt agrees, and she's been clicking around other sites for a while when she freezes. "Uh – Santana? Celebrity sex tape is a trending topic right now."

Santana blinks, momentarily freaked out, then shrugs. "Schuester would have called me by now," she points out.

"I guess," Brittany says, but Santana can tell that she's looking further into it. Santana doesn't want to dwell, though, so she picks up the remote from the night stand and starts flipping through channels, stopping on a Top Chef marathon when she finally accepts that there is literally nothing better on TV.

Brittany puts her phone down after ten more minutes, shrugging, and Santana basically assumes that it means she didn’t turn up anything.

Some dude on the tv (Santana isn't bothering to remember their names, since it's an old season and when the fuck would she find the time to regularly watch Top Chef anyway?) is complaining about someone stealing his pea puree when Santana's and Brittany's phones both buzz. Santana picks hers up first, and she knows what's coming even before she sees the text from Puckerman – the only one-week-stand she still regularly talks to – talking about how fucking hot her video was and next time she should invite him along.

 _gross, puckerman_ , she texts back, and pretends to herself for all of thirteen seconds that Puck's just now found her last music video. She gives up pretending, though, when Brittany sighs and says, "Well, I found the link to watch it."

"Well, fuck," Santana says, and Brittany looks at her sympathetically… then clicks the link.

"Might as well make the most of it," she says, when Santana sputters, and, well. They watch it pretty often, actually – maybe once or twice a month. Watching porn featuring herself and her best girl is better than any other porn out there. But this is different, because Santana can _see_ the hit count and she _knows_ that there are hundreds of pervs on the internet right now, watching the video and probably rubbing one out while they do so.

Brittany hits play.

+++

The video starts with Santana's swinging breasts right up in the camera as she sets it down, turned on, and adjusts it so that it focuses on the bed. There's the edge of a dark nipple on one edge of the frame, and a full nipple that is obviously rock-hard with arousal at the very corner of the other side. The lines of her breasts, already moving minutely with her movements, blur as she turns. Then: her back, retreating, first her upper back, and then more of the small of her back, and then her fantastic (if she does say so herself) rounding ass, as she goes to join Brittany, who is naked on the bed and looks so, so young. Three years isn't long, not really, but twenty-five is still pretty different than twenty-two. Especially in dancer years. ( _before they decided to start the video, Santana and Brittany had spent fifteen minutes slowly undressing each other, pressing kisses on each newly-revealed inch of skin, reveling in the then-newness of their relationship. A month, two months maybe if you count when they used to just fuck occasionally, but long enough for Santana to fall in love and for Brittany to return the sentiment. This video was the celebration of their first I-love-yous_ )

Brittany is giggling as she twists up to kiss Santana, drawing her down slowly on top of her, running a deliberate hand down Santana's side and giggling harder when Santana squirms at the touch – from the heady sensation of it all, Santana remembers.

The video is definitely erotic, in a sensual way, obviously suffused with love, but it's obviously not intended to be titillating. There are no close-ups of Santana's breasts bouncing – after the first few seconds, anyway – while Brittany runs her hand over them, rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger deliberately, twisting the both of them until they're on their sides, facing each other, then moving down Santana's body to replace her fingers with her mouth. It's more implied than obviously shown that Britt is sucking gently at Santana's nipple, tongue swirling over the tip in tantalizingly concentric circles. You can't see the wetness between Santana's legs that first gushes, then seeps, as Brittany moves her hands lower, cupping them against first the mound of Santana's crotch, then lower still till the tips of her fingers are teasing Santana's clit.

You _can_ see Santana's teeth as she takes Brittany's earlobe in her mouth, tugging on it with light, nipping bites, swirling her tongue in the shell of her ear, then _sucking_  on the lobe until a moan – somewhat muted, but that's due significantly more to the audio quality on the camera than anything else – rips free from Britt's mouth.

Brittany's now stroking Santana's clit, index finger beckoning increasing arousal that is evident from Santana's mouth, falling open and away from Britt's ear and working, first silently, and then with low, hitching gasps. Her free hand slips around to Santana's back, stroking down from the small of Santana's back to her ass, where it pauses, kneading gently. The pale skin of Britt's hand stands in sharp contrast to Santana's ass, even more marked with the lowish quality of the picture, but that only serves to accentuate the push and pull of the flesh on Santana's backside as Brittany moves her hand toward Santana's most secret sweet spot, right where her ass meets her left thigh.

( _Despite the fact that she knows that probably thousands of other people are seeing it right now – or, perhaps,_ because _of that fact, which is a thought that Santana doesn't particularly want to entertain right now, Santana is getting fucking_ hot _watching the video, so she pushes her hand between Britt's legs, where she's still stretched out from Santana fucking her with their biggest strap-on, immediately slipping her middle finger into Brittany and slowly stroking her g-spot. Britt moans, pushing a leg between both of Santana's, and Santana rolls her hips against Britt's thigh, first slowly and then quicker as the video starts to heat up_ )

Santana-in-the-video remembers herself, and moves a hand to cover one of Brittany's breasts, warming it briefly before pinching and twisting her nipple _hard_ , hard enough to make Britt shout out loud enough to make the audio on the film break and screech, briefly.

Only the most computer-adept at stripping and improving audio quality will hear what's said next, but Santana vividly remembers saying, in a soft, marveling tone, "You like it so rough, babe, my god."

And then Brittany's nodding and adding another finger to the one working Santana's clit. Santana gasps, pushing her hips forward towards Britt's hand, shuddering, but Brittany's pulling away.

"Hold on – I want –" Britt's saying, and this time what she says is picked up, softly but distinctly as she pulls her hand away from Santana's ass and pushes the girl fully onto her back. ( _Santana, watching and knowing what comes next, shudders, grinding down against Britt's thigh harder, moaning at the feel of her cunt slipping over Britt's skin, the feel of Brittany tightening around her questing fingers_.)

Brittany moves down the bed, the light of the room glinting against the sweat on her back as she settles between Santana's legs. The video barely picks up the way she presses two fingers slowly into Santana, and definitely doesn't display the _feel_ of first Santana's slick folds and then her tight hole as Brittany gets slowly deeper, knuckle by knuckle, slowly spreading her fingers apart, then twisting them so that her arm is positioned in just the right way to allow her to move her head in and taste Santana's juices gathering at the base of her fingers, then lick up to Santana's clit, furling her tongue over the way that it is now more pronounced with pleasure, then fitting her lips around it and sucking, first gently, and then harder as Santana's hips continue to roll encouragingly in towards Brittany's mouth.

( _The video only picks up the back of Britt's head, bobbing slightly with the undulation of Santana's body, which is honestly a relief – Santana doesn't want everyone to know exactly what it is that Britt does to make her come_ so fucking undone _,_   _and anyway, she can remember each lick, each suck, each press of Britt's fingers throughout that entire night_ )

On the video, Santana's orgasm is mounting, and Brittany pulls her fingers away, using both hands to push Santana's hips into the bed so she can lap against Santana's clit and then her opening, tasting Santana as she comes _hard_ , crying "Oh baby, I love you, Brittany, _God_ the things you – holy _fuck_ , babe, shit, _YES_  " as she does.

And then Brittany is pulling away, murmuring, "Mine, mine, I love you, let's see if we can make you come again," just loudly enough for the microphone in the camera to barely pick her up. She's now sitting up, slipping a leg under one of Santana's, pulling Santana's hips in just the right way so that their cunts are lined up, slipping against each other as Brittany rolls her hips and Santana, coming down from her orgasm, starts doing the same.

( _"You're soaking my leg," Brittany whispers, her voice full of wonder, as Santana pulls her fingers out and starts rolling her clit between thumb and forefinger, intent on making her come before Brittany in the video does, and Santana moans as she tightens her muscles just enough to make the next push against Britt's leg cause her to practically spasm with the sensation_.)

They don't stay in the position long, because Brittany is wound so tight with arousal that she's losing the rhythm, so Santana pulls free and slinks down Britt's body, first pushing a tit against Britt's cunt – it's not obvious in the video, but Santana loves being able to feel and smell Brittany _everywhere_ \- and then moving lower, pushing the tip of her tongue _hard_ against it and holding it there steady, allowing Britt to set the pace with the thrusting of her hips up against it.

( _The best part is coming, in Santana's opinion – though it certainly doesn't happen every time they fuck, it was during the making of this video that Santana learned that when Brittany comes especially hard, she squirts, just a little. She also gets really sensitive right before it happens – it's her tell, because when she just can't get enough, her orgasm is a little different – and Santana's finger twitch, apparently in_ just _the right way to make Britt gasp a little and come, softly, jerking her leg up and causing Santana to come too, as the moment in the film approaches_.)

Brittany is pushing Santana's head lower, slightly, her clit completely overstimulated, so that Santana's tongue pushes inside of her, and though nothing is clearly visible in the picture, Santana makes a surprised noise, then a pleased hum, as Brittany comes on her tongue.

"You taste so good, baby," she says, moving back up Britt's body for a full-on kiss, and the camera picks up the barest hint of tongues moving against each other before it runs out of battery and the scene greys out.

+++

"Fuck," Santana says, rolling onto her back. She's trembling all over – this always happens when they watch it. "Babe, turn off your phone, I really don't want to talk to Schuester tonight."

Brittany laughs, and does so. They fall asleep with the lights still on, limbs still very much tangled together.

As a result, when Santana gets to Ellen's studio the next day, she has an awful crick in her neck (worth it, though). She's been tuning Schuester out the entire way over – he's on the phone, not actually with her, so it's easier to fake paying attention. The only thing she gets from what he says (apart from the fact that she's caused him a PR nightmare and it will take forever to clear this up) is that Ellen will probably bring this up and that Santana better have a _damn_ good explanation for it.

Santana's pretty sure that the sex tape is pretty self-explanatory, but she doesn't say as much to Schuester. "Don't worry," she finally tells him. "I got this."

When she hangs up on him, she toys with her phone for a few minutes before adding _find new publicist_ to her to-do list.

In the studio, Ellen talks about _Going Stereo_ 's imminent release for a few minutes before folding her hands in her lap and saying, "Now, Santana, last week a couple of pictures of you were leaked, and I hear that last night, a video was, too. I hear that your backup dancer, Brittany Pierce, plays a pretty significant role in the, uh, subject matter of these things. So I just wanna ask – you're doing this to help closeted teens in your demographic come out?"

 _Goodbye, Schuester_ , Santana thinks, deliberately ignoring the lingering thought that, if he quits, she won't have to fire him.

She smiles pretty for the camera, then says, "Well, Ellen, you see – I mean, yes, I did want to support those teenagers. But that's not all." She takes a deep breath – though her closest friends and family know she's gay, despite all the rumors, she's really not out to that many people, and this will get leaked _everywhere_. People all over the world will see it. _Like they've seen your sex tape_ , a small voice in the back of her mind reminds her, which... well. She's already inadvertently shared one of her most intimate moments with the world; she might as well share another and be able to control how it comes out.

Santana twists her hands together, takes a deep breath, and says, "Brittany Pierce is also my girlfriend, my soulmate, and the love of my life. She is the reason I write the songs I write and sing the songs I sing. She's the reason I wake up every morning with a smile on my face and the reason that I sleep so well at night." She smiles, fondly. "Britt's my everything. I wish I could have let the world know that a little differently, but whatever. I'm not ashamed of what we have. I'm the luckiest girl in the world, having her, and I'm glad that now everyone else knows it, too."

Santana doesn’t remember the rest of the interview, she's trembling so hard.

+++

She's back on  _Ellen_  a year later, talking about a charity Santana's opened up to help gay teens who have had a lot worse responses to coming out than she, with her _still_  rapidly-increasing fanbase and largely-positive tumblr tag, did, when Ellen pauses and grins.

"And now, we have a surprise for everyone watching tonight," she says, and Santana doesn't know what she's talking about. "A very special someone is here for a very important person. Brittany, why don't you come on out here?"

Santana doesn't know what's going on until Brittany's kneeling down in front of her, and oh god, her third most intimate moment is going to be public, too.

She squares her shoulders and smiles and when Brittany looks up at her and says, "I am so happy that I became your backup dancer and then your girlfriend and that you came out on national tv to tell everyone about us. Even if the reason you did it was kind of based in... well, you know." She reaches into an inside pocket on her blazer and continues, "I wanted to come onto national tv and ask if you, Santana Lopez, light of my life and cutest hottest person ever, will marry me so that we can be doubly awesome in front of everyone. And I wanted to ask Ellen if she and Portia will come to our wedding if you say yes."

Santana is totally fucking sobbing, like a little bitch. She pulls Brittany up and, because she might as well give the world one more show, tugs her close enough to kiss her, long and soft and probing, before pulling back and saying, "Yes, Britt-Britt, I'll marry you."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, so if you see any mistakes let me know and I'll fix them :)
> 
> Thanks to my good friend K's friend for giving this fic the alternate title "The Hannah Santana Fic"
> 
>  
> 
> [lj](http://el_em_en_oh_pee.livejournal.com) | [tumblr](http://dulosis.tumblr.com)


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